


The other side of the sea...

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Half-elven Bard [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: I didnt intend to write this, Oops, Referenced deaths of canon charactes, and then I was like, huh what happens when Thran arrives in Aman, so this happened..., sorry Bain..., with Bard on his arm and their wives are there?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: What happens on the other side of the sea, while Thranduil and Bard are still in Middle-earth
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Bard the Bowman's Wife, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Thranduil's Wife/Bard the Bowman's Wife, Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Series: Half-elven Bard [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746481
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	The other side of the sea...

**Author's Note:**

> The ladies aren't to be left out...

“So,” Lalaithiel startles, looking up from watching the ocean before her, her hands carelessly running through the sand. Let’s her eyes land on the woman before her, she is beautiful and delicate with just a hint too much of the race of Men in her face. “I think we’re both mature enough to be adults about this, when our boys come home.”

“Oh.” Lalaithiel breathes, suddenly realizing exactly who this woman is. “Florrie.” She says, sounding the word on her lips. That, too, is just a touch too Human.

“Lalaithiel.” The woman replies, smiling and sinking down into the sand beside her. “We haven’t been replaced.”

“No.” Lalaithiel agrees, reaching out a trembling hand to grip hers. “Our family has just grown wider than we thought it could.”

“Yes.” Florrie agrees, squeezing her hand. “I always knew my Bard would find someone else after me. It’s what humans do, after all, and for all that he and I knew what we both were, our daily lives were amongst mortals.”

“I prayed Thranduil would.” Lalaithiel admits, feeling suddenly freer for finally saying the words after so long. “No matter what our laws and our traditions, I hoped he would move on.”

“Right, but where does that leave us?” Florrie queries, looking out over the water, ships come in every day and have for many years. Eluréd assures them their boys won’t be coming any time soon.

“Waiting.” Lalaithiel answers, sighing heavily and shaking her head. “Always waiting.”

“We don’t have to just waste our time waiting.” Florrie answers, carefully pulling her hand free. “They built a family while we were lost to them, we could build a house and rebuild our family while they are lost to us.” Florrie points out, delicate hands building little structures in the sand. “Scope out a place to call our own and claim it, build it up, make it ours. When our boys come home, they can know how much we missed them.”

“My dear, are you proposing to me?” Lalaithiel asks, laughter bubbling inside of her, laughter she hasn’t let herself give into since leaving Mandos’ halls in this body that bears no trace of the life she once lived and lost.

“Not yet.” Florrie answers, a grin pulling at her lips and Lalaithiel lets her own lips smile in answer. “Maybe one day, though.”

* * *

Lady Yavanna all but trips over herself to grow them a beautiful forest when Florrie asks her kindly. Yavanna, it turns out, has been watching over their husbands for as long as they have been alive, and if the forest that she grows resembles Greenwood the Great in the North and the Forest of Doriath in the South, who is going to question her?

They spend those early days running through the forest, their laughter waking up the trees and causing the birds to sing their morning songs. Together, they start building a home in the centre of the forest, upon what they have begun to call the Divide, where the replicas of two great, ancient forests meet.

The parts of their home built on the Greenwood side are decorated and shaped in the Silvan and Avari fashions, in a true reflection of the King’s Halls in the true Greenwood. The parts of their home built on the Doriath side are decorated and shaped in the Sindar fashion, as Doriath had once been. Oropher and Celebrian help Lalaithiel building up that of the Greenwood, while Daeron, Eluréd, Dior, Nimloth, Melian, Belien, and Thingol help Florrie building up the Doriath side.

It should feel crowded, having so many people working so close together, but it doesn’t.

* * *

Every time a new ship arrives, Florrie stands out on the beach, up to her knees in water while she watches the elves disembark. She already knows that none of them will be her Bard or her children, or Lalaithiel’s husband or their son. So, she doesn’t bother going to greet them. Instead, she watches them disembark, then she turns her attention back towards the sea, where she knows far across it lies Middle-earth and those she loves with _almost_ everything that she is.

It’s Lalaithiel who stands at the dock and greets the newcomers, every single time. Most don’t have any stories to tell her, but she greets them all the same. Some have small snippets to tell her, just little things, nothing really more than rumour, but she eats it up like candy. And, when there are no more elves to greet that day, she turns and she walks down onto the beach and lets the water lap at her legs as she goes to stand beside Florrie, looking out towards Middle-earth and those who are, for the moment, lost to them.

Normally, they don’t say anything, just let the water push and pull at them as they look out over its vast expanse, hoping, praying, _wanting._ Sometimes, Lalaithiel has news to share, that she herself has only just learned, that Florrie listens to with rapt attention, even if neither of them ever looks away from the land mass they cannot see and will not ever again.

They share their first kiss here, the water pushing and pulling, their hearts tugging and tearing. Florrie is laughing at a story Lalaithiel is recounting, both of them glowing in the light as Anor sinks behind them, and the next thing they both know, their lips are touching and nothing else seems to matter.

The days that had followed were filled with sneaking out after dark like adolescents, running under the trees of their new home; giggling and talking and soaking up the light of the stars and the moon above them. They were filled with hesitant touches and lewd stories about the only other loves they’ve had in their lives.

* * *

When word reaches Lalaithiel that King Bain of Dale has died, a mortal death of old age, Lalaithiel barely has the presence of mind to thank the elf who gives her this news, before she’s running down onto the beach. Only, the moment she reaches her friend, her lover, the woman who has slowly become her reason for getting out of bed in the morning, her words fail her. Her child is dead. _Their_ child is dead.

“What’s happened?” Florrie asks, looking away from Middle-earth to look, instead, upon the sight of Lalaithiel crying. “Love?”

“It’s Bain.” Lalaithiel finally chokes out, reaching out to grab Florrie’s hands, squeezing while her heart constricts in her chest. “He chose a mortal life.”

“Oh.” Florrie exclaims, squeezing so tightly to Lalaithiel’s hands that Lalaithiel feels the moment the skin breaks beneath sharp nails. “I see.” Florrie whispers, pulling free of her and turning, to walk on trembling legs from the water, to collapse into the sand, Lalaithiel following her every step.

“Florrie-“

“I knew, of course.” Florrie says, looking up at her with eyes that are so haunted it steals Lalaithiel’s breath. Lalaithiel has never lost a child before, she never even got to meet this child and they are lost to her and she doesn’t know what to do with the empty pit that has suddenly formed inside of her. “The moment I learnt Bard had claimed Dale. One of our children has to be _Human_ enough to rule. Men won’t accept a king that never dies. He probably made the choice the day his father was crowned.”

“Sacrifice for the Kingdom.” Lalaithiel whispers, dropping to her knees at Florrie’s side. “I know all about that.” She says, letting the idea sink in, that Bain has done what so many others have done before him. Sacrifice and die for his Kingdom because someone _must._ This, she understands. It doesn’t fill that emptiness that has opened up inside of her, but she understands it.

“Bain will be with Brand’s family.” Florrie states, looking at Lalaithiel with so much more serenity that Lalaithiel herself can find within her. “Perhaps Beren and Luthien are there, too.”

“Perhaps.” Lalaithiel answers, frowning. “Why are you so calm?”

“I accepted I may not ever see my children again a _very_ long time ago.” Florrie answers, reaching out to claim her hands. “I made my peace with such the day I was released from the Halls. I grieve, but it is an old grief.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do that.” Lalaithiel admits, squeezing Florrie’s hands tightly. “I’ve never loved someone I knew I’d never see again. Someone I never even got to meet.”

“That’s all you ever do when you surround yourselves with mortals.” Florrie explains, her voice sorrowful and low. “The first thing you have to do, is celebrate the life they led, so… come on, let’s round up the others and we can celebrate the life of one King Bain of Dale, our son.”

* * *

Sigrid is the first one to come to them. Her heart full of such sorrow she stumbles under the weight of it, even as she disembarks the boat. No one had told them she was coming, but Lalaithiel recognizes her wife in the shape of Sigrid’s face, she recognizes Eluréd, Dior, Nimloth, Thingol, and Melian in the expressions that cross her face, but most of all, she recognises Thranduil in the light of her eyes. This is her daughter, the daughter she has only ever heard of and never seen for herself. Sigrid recognizes her, too. Her eyes going wide and her mouth forming a soft o, as she stumbles to stand before Lalaithiel.

“You’re her.” Sigrid whispers, and Lalaithiel can’t help but smile, as she wraps her arm around her daughter and quietly pulls her along, down onto the beach.

“I am Lalaithiel.” She greets, as Sigrid leans into her and trusts her not to lead her astray. “Come, I’ll take you to your mother.”

“She’s ere?” Sigrid exclaims, with tired excitement.

“Aye. She is.” Lalaithiel agrees, guiding Sigrid along the sand.

Florrie isn’t standing in the waters, looking to Middle-earth when they find her. Instead, she’s standing on the sand, staring at them like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing is real.

“Go on, Sigrid.” Lalaithiel whispers, carefully nudging Sigrid along, their daughter laughs and sobs and throws herself at Florrie, who wraps the girl up in her arms and clings.

It is Lalaithiel’s turn to stand in the water and look out towards Middle-earth, now.

* * *

Legolas arrives with a dwarf, such an arrival causes a stir, but most agree this is to be expected of the line of Elmo, and especially of Thranduil’s son, and while some still grumble about it, most decide they can stand one dwarf.

The dwarf wins Lalaithiel’s heart when she learns of the trials and tragedies her son and this dwarf shared on their quest together. Any dwarf that would risk their own life for her son is a friend in her books, and she’s not afraid to brow-beat the rest of their too big family about such, either.

It also doesn’t hurt that Galadriel seems excited to see the dwarf, again, too. Florrie takes great fun in reminding Galadriel that her husband is still very much alive, somewhere across the ocean. Galadriel huffily points out that those in glass houses ought not to throw stones, but the light in her eyes belies her words.

* * *

Tilda, Elurín, Celeborn, Haldir, Rumil, Orophin, Thranduil, and Bard all arrive together. This time, there is word sent before they arrive and Florrie and Lalaithiel are waiting at the docks, side by side. Sigrid and Legolas lingering at their sides on anxious feet.

Lalaithiel finds she hasn’t been idle in the years since she left the Hall. Despite the fact she greets every new ship that comes in, her life hasn’t been consumed with waiting, as Florrie promised.

“We could give them each a heart attack.” Florrie points out, conspiratorially beside her and Lalaithiel snorts and rolls her eyes. “Do you think they’d believe we were angry at them?” Lalaithiel opens her mouth to disagree, but then closes it, laughing softly.

“Probably.”

“Ada’s an idiot.” Legolas points out, a grin pulling at his lips.

“They’re _both_ idiots.” Sigrid argues, crossing her arms over her chest. “How long did it take them to _actually_ get married? Honestly!”

“Please do not remind me.” Legolas exclaims with a groan, throwing his head back to look up at the sky above them in exasperation. “They might have been good kings, but they’re so dumb.”

“So, no heart attacks, then?” Florrie asks, just for clarification and Lalaithiel can’t help but laugh.

“Look at Ada’s face!” Sigrid exclaims, giggling. “He’s having a heart attack and you aren’t even doing anything.”

“Valar, look at da!” Legolas chips in, laughter bubbling in his throat. Lalaithiel looks to the ship as the people on its deck begin to be recognizable to her eyes. Sure enough, Thranduil and Bard are both staring at her and Florrie like they’ve seen ghosts. Tilda is standing beside them, laughing and pointing, even though her laughter cannot yet be heard on the wind.

Lalaithiel takes Florrie’s hand into her own and squeezes it.

All those of their family who will come home, are home now.

No longer will they stand on the beach and look to Middle-earth. For everyone they need is _finally_ here.

“So,” she starts, turning to Florrie, a giant grin on her face. “I think we’re both mature enough to be adults about this, when our boys come home.” She says, an echo of words spoken so long ago, now. Florrie laughs, the sound wild and free and so full of life.

“Yes, I think we can manage that.” Florrie agrees, wrapping her arms around Lalaithiel and kissing her soundly, while Sigrid wolf whistles and Legolas complains about the scandal of it all.

“My fathers spend all their time making out and now my mothers spend all _their_ time making out. I can’t escape it!”

“Look at it this way, soon you’ll get to see our mothers making out with our fathers.” Sigrid helpfully points out. “We might even get some more little siblings out of it.”

“Are you trying to give _me_ a heart attack, Sigrid?” Legolas exclaims, thoroughly scandalized as Lalaithiel and Florrie pull away from each other, laughing and clinging to each other for support.

It’s not too long after when a pair of familiar arms yank Lalaithiel from Florrie’s grip and a familiar set of lips is claiming her own and all is suddenly right within the world once more.


End file.
